The Desert
by Cozzybob
Summary: She put you out of your misery and drained your soul of every last drop, feeding on you, drinking you, savoring you all for herself with no intention to share. She's quite the possessive bastard. Her name is Dorothy Catalonia. 4xDx4


**The Desert**  
by cozzybob

**Pairs:** 4xDx4 with slight 34 and ref to 2xHx2, 3x11, 1xR, 5xS and 6x9

**Disclaimer: **Don't own it. Not really. sigh

**Rated:** R

**Warning:** crazy het stuff, language, ref to 4xDx4 lemons, ref to Quat attempted suicide, angst, slight sap/fluff/whatever you wanna call it, pregnancy

**Note:** A very old ficthat I'm re-posting. Not one of the better ones I've written... my first attempt at a 4xDx4. More like practice for later fics.

* * *

It started in the desert. The Sahara. 

My favorite desert actually, the largest and most intimidating. The one that every man fears. I remember I had a small camp in that sandy hell of nowhere, and I was alone save for the wind and the stars. I don't know how she found me or how she got there, all I know was that I had gone there to escape everything, to collect myself. To be alone. The desert was always like that for me. It helps me to understand who I am.

Like any other Gundam pilot in existence, I have a severe problem with identity. It happens when you grow up thinking that you're something you're not, thinking you're a freak, less then human, less than normal, an abomination to Mother Nature and your long dead mother. He'd never actually said it, I know, but her death was always hanging over my head. Even if I never knew the truth in how she died.

But that doesn't matter anymore.

I had gone to the desert because I was starting to have the nightmares again. I couldn't focus on WEI, I wasn't good for anything. I had Rashid worried sick about me, and Trowa was the same in his own quiet way. I told them I just needed to disappear for a little while. To understand things. There is always a reason for your nightmares, and a reason for your dreams. I needed to understand that reason and face it. Fix it.

So I went to the desert. The Sahara was meant to heal me.

And then she came. She stayed for a very long time.

She was always so malicious at first, cruel and unmistakably mysterious, but once she had you, she killed you slow and steady, kindly even in a way. She put you out of your misery and drained your soul of every last drop, feeding on you, drinking you, savoring you all for herself with no intention to share.

She's quite the possessive bastard. Her name is Dorothy Catalonia.

Don't ask me how it happened. Of all people, I had to be the one to suffer the casualties of a one night stand. Well... a scheduled one night stand, if there is such a thing. After the Sahara, it was a game of lust and power and we were addicted. I chose the setting, she chose the time and we fucked. We fucked ourselves insane until there was nothing left human inside of us, and then, after the crying and the healing, we fucked some more.

We had no intention of making a life together, there was no love between us, but I wanted her. She was so undeniably hot and needy, and she wanted me in every way. I let her take me. She knew me. She understood me and she wanted to tease that darker part of me, she wanted to see me for what I really was.

And then she killed me. Over and over and over again.

She became my personification of the desert. And in a way, I guess she healed me like that. You see, in the desert one cannot hide. You are exposed for the truth and there is no escape, no place to run. You're left naked before the sun, to be judged by your own fate. In the desert, you face your demons. You kill them or you die.

Dorothy killed them. The demons were slain, and Dorothy won over them. Over me. She killed me every night with ecstasy until they were all gone and I was left with nothing save the pain. Terrible, horrible pain. She healed me. I was free. I was hurting, but I was free of them, I'd have no more of the nightmares ever again. She would comfort me like that, after the tears were finally dried, and she'd hold me throughout the night if only to leave the following morning. She was like a devil who killed with a tease. Seduction. She touched me like she loved me.

But in the end, we still hated each other all the more.

I still remember her face when she called to tell me what we had done. You can't fool Mother Nature for long, eventually she always catches up to you. The game was supposed to be our secret, and for the longest time, we succeeded. But then it actually happened. And everyone knew. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised... but it doesn't help my sanity.

Dorothy Catalonia told me that she was pregnant with my child.

And of all things to do on that phone call, with Dorothy, a woman I hate beyond belief, I told that woman that I loved her. I guess the Freudian slip has its moments.

We're supposed to be getting married soon, but Dorothy says she wants to worry about the baby first. The baby.

Our baby.

I was going to have a child. A child. A baby. I think Father would have been proud to consider that, for he did have thirty children, didn't he? Yes. I think he enjoyed the sex just as much as I did.

But I had no intention of doing that to my son or daughter or whatever it might've been. My sisters wanted it to be a test tube baby to continue that godforsaken tradition, and though the Maganacs have never said it, I know that they agreed, however indirectly. Rashid said that he was glad for me, that having a son is a blessing. He told me to do whatever I feel is right in my heart. He said that he trusts me. A thing he's never had to tell me before, just something that we all knew.

He's already assumed that it's going to be a boy. Just like my father would, and I think of Rashid as a father now. I can't hate him for such a little thing like that.

But then, I am not my father either. I want a child. A daughter. A son. I don't give a damn what sex it is. Women are just as capable of leading a multi-billion enterprise. Believe me, it's not as complicated as it might seem... or maybe that's the genius talking. Whatever the case, Iria can do it just as well as I can.

If not better.

I've never told my sisters how much I hated being what I am because of my father's "tradition." I am the heir because I'm the bastard son. I'm special. I was born with a fucking mark over my head, a guillotine, if you will. It would've been so nice to die and just let it all go so easily, to pull that lever and watch the blade slide down the wooden beams. It's a shame I never did let it go that far, a shame that I never pulled that lever, but Dorothy didn't let me do it, and neither had Trowa for the longest time. I'll admit it, I did try once. Maybe twice. Everyone tries it at least once, even Duo, who seems to be the most stubborn when it comes to resisting suicide. But Dorothy tends to have that affect on people, even miles away. I never did it again.

I've always thought it was her eyebrows. You know exactly what I'm talking about, they're the eyebrows from hell. With them, she'll eat your soul for dinner. Trowa said that once. He wasn't joking.

Dorothy talked to me about the pregnancy over such a dinner. We ate at my house, just the two of us and we talked. Well... argued is a better term, but it wasn't a bitter argument, it was a Dorothy-Catalonia-wants-to-play kind of argument. It's the seduction technique she's so fond of, the one that gets me all riled up for absolutely no reason while she spews ridiculous beliefs on war and peace and rants on how she admires the sheer beauty of it all. The war-is-beautiful argument. The I-know-who-you-really-are-Quatre-Winner argument. The fuck-me-now-so-I-can-kill-you-again argument.

Dorothy's argument. Always arguing. Sometimes I hate her. Other times I just want to kill her. Either way, she always wins. Dorothy can be like that. She doesn't know how to lose.

She said we shouldn't know the sex of the baby until it's born because it's more natural that way, and she wants a natural birth. I'm very strong about this, considering that I had believed I was a test tube baby until I was 15. Never did get my father back for that. Then again, the colonies did that for me, didn't they? Yes. Unpleasant memories.

Shame.

Dorothy understood my bitterness... it's just that... I was afraid for her, because my mother died this way and if Dorothy died... I didn't love her, but I cared about her more than a friend would. Should. More than a sister. I know this woman inside and out and I don't want to see her slip away from me like that. I don't want to turn into my father. I will never be known as Mr. Winner. I won't.

We discussed names. This was to the amusement of Duo, who brought Hilde along to jab me with accusations of "What the hell were you thinking?" and "Congratulations!" all in the same sentence. Everyone knows it was a one night stand for us, but they all seemed happy for me nonetheless. Maybe they're all just a little shocked about it. I mean of all the people to suffer such a problem, it had to be the _little_ Quatre Winner. Duo would have made perfect sense, and Trowa would've been understandable, maybe even Wufei to a point, but no, they all have fairly plutonic relationships of their own and I am the one left standing with a woman I hate even while she rides me through the night. I am the one left with a child that I need to foster and care for with ridiculous amounts of child support and fatherly love.

But I still want to marry her. Not only for the baby, really. Just because she keeps my nightmares away, and like the desert and our sex, I'm addicted to her. Nicotine. Suppose you never knew my sisters got me drugged as a child. Quatre Winner really does know how to roll a joint. Imagine that.

Duo came up with the most ridiculous names, constantly reminding me of the delighted fact that I was, indeed, a father now. But Dorothy coldly rejected each of them with a "killer eyebrow" look and a very stern, eerily mother-like negation, and Hilde would swat at him with Wufei-worthy insults every time, public affection sickeningly aware in that rough sort of way. I understand the feeling, even if Duo was being sincere about it, and Hilde was gentle after the first few punches and nosebleeds. Sort of, anyway. Duo told me once that there is nothing scarier than Hilde on PMS. I told him to try that challenge on Dorothy. He didn't take it.

Trowa came along with Une a little after our dinner with Duo that night. He was dead silent, never speaking, simply watching from the sidelines as our Trowa does and will always do. He said that he only wanted to see me. And that he did. Une never said a word, either.

He and Une are fairly close now, I even heard that they're going to get engaged soon. It's a strange relationship, and I've never seen them share affections in public, but they follow each other around like cat and mouse, like Duo and Hilde, like Relena and Heero, like Wufei and Sally. Like me and Dorothy.

Sometimes I think he hates her. Dorothy, I mean. It's very hard to read Trowa.

Funny though, I'll swear on my father's grave that I felt jealousy from him when Dorothy leaned in to taunt me with a kiss. But in the end, I guess we'll never really know what that man hides behind his curtain of auburn bangs, and in a way, I guess I don't want to know. It's never good to know things that don't want to be known in the first place.

But that doesn't matter right now. Back to Dorothy.

Dorothy and I argued over naming the baby, almost nonstop. And while arguing--Dorothy's arguing, remember--we had sex repeatedly and continued to argue even at our climax, over and over, backlash after backlash, until were we spent and had no other choice but to fall asleep on each other in that erotically casual way. And yes, in the end, I guess I'd become a conservative slut. Not that it made a difference.

She was less than a month pregnant yet, so we still had a while to think about it. That's when Mother Nature stopped by for another lightning bolt. Not two weeks after our sex marathon, Dorothy called me yet again with another life-changing phone call. She said that we were going to have twins. Not one child. Two.

That excited her beyond belief, and I was inclined to agree. Despite our differences, we both loved the thought having children. It wasn't because we had to, or that we were forced, we just... wanted it. Needed it, in a way. Children was something oddly domesticated, something _normal _for us. Dorothy and I both had never really known the definition of normal before--and before you try to combat that statement, you must remember who Catalonia's relatives were.

That was eight months ago, so I'm not quite done with this story yet. There was still nine months of handling mood swings, god awful cravings, and it was... different. Nice. Oddly comfortable, twisted as that sounds. And to really enforce the thought becoming domesticated, the thought of Quatre Winner--of all people--a father... as the twins grew within her, I began to feel them ever-so-slightly in my spaceheart, my empathy. Whenever we would argue, they would know it and I'd feel their distress. And when we'd get along... it was such a blessed thing. I'd feel their happiness. Their contentment. It was the first and only time I was thankful to have the empathy. With it, I spoke to my children before they were even born.

Strange. Through those nine months, I grew closer to Dorothy. I didn't really hate her anymore, and I truthfully started to even love her, in a way. An endearing way, a soft way. One that did not involve the lust we had thrived on for so long. I knew she was starting to feel the same way about me because I began to feel her more often--feel the girl deep down, beyond all the garbage, the Dorothy inside... I felt her. I was connected with her a little more, and I felt nothing but sincerity from her even if she didn't ever show it. I felt her with my empathy, like the children. We were connected.

So yes, if you care to know, I did fall in love with Dorothy Catalonia. Eventually.

And tonight... there is a reason I'm writing tonight. A reason that I've needed to tell you this. She's still sleeping in the hospital with my children. My kids. Babies. She gave birth to a boy and a girl today. My daughter. My son. My _son_.

I'm a father now.

Duo's ecstatic, The Maganacs are partying and Trowa's stone drunk on a bet with Hilde and Noin. No one believed that he could out drink both women at once, and it seems that they were wrong... but just barely. Hilde has vomited over the balcony four times now, and all forty Maganacs and my three best friends are dead to the world. They drank all the beer, so Sally, Wufei, Zechs and Duo (the oddest of groups if I ever saw one) went out on the town to find me a really hard, really effective case of liquor. I never really drank before, but after tonight, I need to get stoned.

Heero and Relena are still visiting Dorothy in the hospital. They had to drag me home after I passed out in the waiting room.

Oh and Heero called a little after I woke up with the babies-induced hangover to tell me in his own indirect-direct way that Relena is now pregnant and he wants all of the details. I couldn't help but laugh at him.

Another frantic father in the maternity ward... ex-Gundam pilot, ex-terrorist, stretegical genius and killer of many... but a frantic father nonetheless. Duo said he'd never seen me run so fast before. It seems Allah has a sense of humor.

Boy's name is Krieg, she said. German for war, a beautiful name. And I named the girl Sharne. That's Hebrew for desert plain.

--_Fini_


End file.
